Deception of the Heart (4 page)

Well,
he wasn’t just any guy, she told herself in self-defense. He was Pete Brunner, an acclaimed author and brilliant mind. The fact he found her beautiful tickled her ego, if nothing else.

Maybe she was vain, she thought defiantly as she looked at him, debating what her next step should be. It felt good to
be needed, and truth to be told, she looked forward to Italy and Mr. Spitieri too much to let it all fall apart. Chatting up some old man who probably would prefer to spend his time taking naps and feeding pigeons didn’t seem like such big deal after all. She could do it, no problem. The accolades that Pete would receive if his book deal with Spitieri came through were sure to rub off some glory on her career as well. She was ready for anything.

Jon woke up with a pounding headache. He had had a nightmare, the usual one. He had been in the desert again. The dusty road wound like a ribbon between two steep hills covered with rubble and a few dry bushes. He heard the convoy of trucks approach, but his lead-heavy legs made moving away from their path impossible. He knew he was supposed to warn them. He tried to wave and yell, but nothing happened. He saw the trucks come closer, the noise of their engines echoing between the steep sides. He had to do something before everything fell apart. Only he couldn’t. Try as he might, he couldn’t move a finger.

The first truck was almost there, passing one of the larger
boulders littering the side of the road. He knew what would happen next. It wasn’t the first time he had this nightmare, after all. Still, the explosion felt just as overpowering and horrid as the first time. He saw the truck blow into a ball of fire. The whirring sound of metal being torn apart grated along his nerve endings in torture that brought tears to his eyes. The other trucks followed, too close to escape the explosion. Soon the whole canyon was hidden in a thick wall of smoke and fire. The smell of oil, hot metal, and blood made him sick. The scent of blood was the worst. Cloyingly sweet and intense, it found him and penetrated his skin, filling him up until he saw nothing but red, his whole body shaking in terror. He heard a thud and looked down. At his feet was a dark shape, half hidden in the long wafts of smoke that swirled around him and made seeing clearly impossible.

Jon
bent lower, unable to resist the urge to see what it was, even though he already knew. Still he looked on, his eyes wide open and tearing up from the biting smoke. He looked into the face of a dead man, his pale skin, closed eyes, and half open mouth achingly familiar. Jon felt a yell rising deep inside him, somewhere in the very core of his miserable, shivering self. His mouth opened to let it out before he shattered into million pieces. And then he woke up.

His alarm clock didn’t
go off, again. For a second, he lay disoriented, his body still tense from the terror of his nightmare. As seconds passed, reality started to set in, reminding him of yesterday’s meeting with Bernard and the team. He recalled the details, his sleep-hazed mind focusing more and more with each passing second. His flight to Rome was booked for that morning. He had very little time if he didn’t want to miss his plane. Nightmare or no nightmare, Bernard would strangle him with bare hands if he happened to oversleep on the most important day in weeks, if not months. Jon tried to stretch to peek at his alarm clock. His temples throbbed in protest, and he grimaced. His dismay deepened when he realized there was no alarm clock on the night table. Actually, there was no night table at all. His eyes came to rest on a totally unfamiliar landscape. The pink and white striped wallpaper and large window draped with magenta curtains were certainly not things he remembered having in his rented place here in New York. He blinked in surprise, wondering momentarily if he’d sleepwalked into his neighbors’ apartment. It was unlikely, but not impossible. Sitting up and ignoring the thudding pulse in his head, he looked around, the fog of sleepiness lifting just enough to make him finally realize what happened.

Yesterday’s dinner came back to his mind
, and his mood worsened. He didn’t really need to look back to the bed to know what, or rather whom, he’d find there. Of course, she was there. Curled on her side, her glorious red hair spread on the pillow in waves of pure fire, Daphne slept peacefully. Her alabaster arm was a stark contrast with the black silk sheets. He let his gaze travel lower, where the cover slipped just enough to offer him a glimpse of a perfectly rounded, perky breast tipped with rose petal pink. She was still gorgeous, and he cursed his own stupidity. He’d gotten caught in her web of sexual allure with an ease that was almost offensive, all things considered.

He
hadn’t planned on going to the dinner, of course. It was a last moment decision, born mostly of boredom and the wish to escape the loneliness of the last evening before a project. He hated those last hours, his body already pumped with adrenaline while he had to wait, doing nothing, minutes dragging on like some kind of never-ending torture. He’d always been a man of action, eager to proceed and get results. Patience had been a learned virtue for him, and not an easy one to acquire. So in the end, he dragged himself to Bernard’s house, deciding that a few hours in his friend’s company offered enough distraction to make the wait more bearable.

Daphne was there, waiting. The moment her green, catlike eyes spotted him enter
ing the large, elegant living room, she was at his side, purposefully ignoring his rather lukewarm welcome. He hadn’t wanted to talk to her and looked for the first viable excuse to escape her presence without causing a scene. And she would cause a scene. Never one to worry about appearances, she’d embarrass not only him but mostly Bernard and his wife, which was unacceptable. So he behaved, enjoying the excellent dinner and the wine that flowed freely with the meal. Each additional glass took away some of his reservations, making the pressure of Daphne’s red-tipped fingers on his arm more and more welcome.

She knew how to seduce a man
, he thought as he lifted himself carefully from the bed, hoping not to wake her up. He had a massive headache. With barely a few minutes to gather his wits, any confrontation was out of question. He’d call her later, and they’d talk it out. His inborn sense of righteousness didn’t approve of sneaking out. She might not have been his favorite person, but he did sleep with her, which made him equally responsible for what happened. As such, he would have to deal with it, no matter how daunting that seemed.

She
’d managed to convince him to drop her off at her place. They shared a cab. His head buzzed pleasantly as he sat there with her long nailed fingers scratching gently against the fabric of his jeans. He should have moved away, but he didn’t. His long suppressed sexual needs had finally resurfaced again in the worst possible moment. She kissed him, and he kissed her back, enjoying the texture of her soft, mobile mouth under his lips. She tasted great, and even the flood of memories from another, better time was unable to break the spell he found himself under. He wanted to savor the moment, regardless of the little voice of reason that kept warning him to stop and leave. He silenced it successfully as he paid the cab driver and walked her to her place, his hands impatient to peel off the light coat she wore over her emerald green dress. The moment the lock fell into place, they were all over each other, tearing off their clothes and kicking off their shoes, too impatient to take it slow. She led him to her bedroom, and they sank to her large, king size bed, their passionate lovemaking raw and hectic.

He’d have to thank
Bernard for that. He collected his clothes, his bare feet silent on the high pile cream carpet. How about, “Thanks for letting me have amazing sex with my ex-fiancée who dumped me six years ago for our building manager while I stayed in Iraq? Who wrote me a letter explaining that she’d gotten tired of waiting for me and preferred to start fresh.” He still had the letter somewhere, faded and frazzled. The two pages of her neat, schoolgirl-like writing lost the power to hurt him any longer. He kept it nevertheless, if only to remind himself that nothing in this world really lasted and perceptions were often misleading. He had to have it and be able to reread it so that he would never repeat his mistakes.

He pulled on his pants and buttoned his black shirt
. His eyes went to the bed when he heard fabric rustling, the softest glide of the silky sheets enough to make him alert. Damn, she was waking up. He’d have to talk to her and make it fast. He had just about twenty minutes before he had to grab his bags and head for the airport.

‘Jon? You’re up?
Come back to bed.’ Even now, heavy with drowsiness, her voice sounded sexy. He watched her sit up, completely oblivious of her nakedness. Alabaster white and perfectly shaped, her body could have moved a stone. His eyes went over her delicate shoulders and full, round breasts, warmed by the sunlight pouring through the large window. He waited for his blood to heat up in response, but the only thing he felt was the stubborn headache that killed anything else. As it was, all he craved was a glass of water, preferably with two aspirins.

‘Daphne, we need to talk
.’ He looked down at her, ignoring the pouty look stretching her full red lips into a downturned crescent. ‘I need to run now, though. My plane is leaving in an hour or so, and I should be at the airport already. Sorry for almost sneaking out like that, but I didn’t want to wake you. I was planning on calling you later.’

‘
Do it.’ She got up, grabbing a long, Japanese style robe in dark blue. It did wonders for her pale skin and brought out the dazzling red in her long, curly hair. She tied the belt, her lovely face serious. ‘We never got to talk properly yesterday. I mean, I wanted to share things with you and maybe talk them out…’ She paused, her face helpless and soft. He felt sorry for her for a moment before he remembered what a wonderful actress she could be, if needed. That quivering mouth, large-eyed woeful appearance was meant to soften him up, of course.

How could he make it clear it wouldn’t work without coming across as a total jerk? He could hardly sound convincing after the night of
lovemaking they had just shared, could he? On the other hand, leaving their conversation for later could prove lethal. Knowing Daphne, she would have picked whatever she wanted to believe about their night together, making it hard to rewind after his return.

‘Look,
Daph,’ he started, putting on his shoes and raking his hair with an impatient hand. ‘There is no easy way to say it, but I’ll try nevertheless. Last night was wonderful, and we both enjoyed it, I think it’s safe to say. But it won’t lead anywhere, ok? I think we have both moved on with our lives, you with your marriage and me with my work. I don’t think we have much to say to each other, Daphne. I am truly sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but what we had right now was sex and nothing but sex.’

Her soft, helpless lo
ok was gone, wiped off her face and replaced with anger. Green eyes sparkling like green ice shards, she looked into his face and riposted, her voice shaking with fury.

‘Well, calling it an impression is
the understatement of the century, don’t you think? You couldn’t get into my panties fast enough, if my memory serves me right. Too bad you didn’t really think about the moving on part then! Oh, I guess, you were too busy enjoying my unworthy body to even bother, Jon.’

‘And for that I am sorry
.’ He wouldn’t let her bait him and make him respond in kind. He found his wallet and walked to the door. His head still throbbed, and he had to make a conscious effort to remain civil. Dishing it all out would have been so much easier, the years of repressed anger ready to burst through the dams of his self-control. But he didn’t do it back then, when she broke off their engagement, even though his world had shattered into a thousand little pieces. He never let her see how he really felt, too proud to admit how deeply she’d hurt him. Sometimes he wondered if laying his heart bare, letting her see she had truly destroyed him with her betrayal, would have made any difference. It was too late for it now, and he looked back at her, his eyes serious.

‘I am sorry
if I mislead you, whatever you might believe, Daphne. We happened to want the same thing yesterday, and that’s what happened, nothing more and nothing less. Do I regret it now? Yes, I do. I should have behaved decently, just accompanied you to your place, and left right away. I am sorry, believe me. I truly wish you all the best for your future. I am quite sure it won’t involve me, that’s all.’

‘Of course not
.’ Bitingly cold, her voice reached him before he pulled the door open. ‘That would be too much to be expected, Jon. Your life belongs to that damn agency. Any human emotions you might experience are tied to your work. Sometimes I wonder if you ever had any space in your heart for anything but your projects. Lying to people, manipulating people, destroying people. That seems to be your vocation, Jon. No wonder you run the moment you feel threatened by anything more human.’

‘I don’t destroy people,
Daph.’ He was almost out now, the confrontation over. ‘I do my best to stop others from doing exactly that, as you might remember. As for lies and deception, unfortunately that’s sometimes the only way to achieve that goal. Whenever possible, I avoid lies. That’s why I am telling you how I feel, even though it would be more convenient to come up with some fairy tale to keep you happy and off my back. So think about that.’

He wasn’t proud of himself and the way he handled
the crisis. It left a bad taste in his mouth, refusing to go away even after he got back to his apartment, grabbed his bags, and changed into a fresh set of clothes, eager to remove the light lingering fragrance of Daphne’s perfume. It clung to his skin and clothes like a constant reminder of his lapse in judgment. He took a brisk shower, the ice-cold droplets washing away the remnants of last night. He’d talk to her again, once he was back, he promised himself. He’d finish it off right, if only to make it possible to remember the night without feeling like a total failure.