She was going.
‘If there’s anything I can do…’ he offered again.
Heat whooshed into her cheeks. ‘No. Please… I have to hurry.’ She quickly averted her gaze from his, fastening it on the door as she took the steps up to the foyer. Her neck was now burning, too.
Why leave the salad bowl when it would only take a slight detour—past him—to get it? Was she remembering the two sexual connections in the kitchen? Evading any risk of tempting contact?
Her hand was on the doorknob.
‘It’s been a very special time with you, Serena,’ he said quickly, wanting to hit some positive chord with her before she left.
She paused, looked back over her shoulder, though her lashes were at half-mast so he couldn’t see what she was thinking. ‘Thank you for that, Nic. I appreciate it,’ she said huskily. ‘It’s been special for me, too.’
But it didn’t stop her from going. The door was opened and a few seconds later it was closed behind her. Nic stared at it, wondering if there was something more effective he could have said or done that might have broken this unwelcome impasse.
The day ahead suddenly felt very empty.
Cleo trotted up to the door and barked at it, as though she, too, was protesting Serena’s departure. ‘She’ll be back tomorrow,’ Nic told the little terrier.
Yet he didn’t feel confident about what tomorrow might bring where Serena was concerned. Which set off a strong determination to move directly into her territory and stake a claim on it.
CHAPTER TWELVE
TO SERENA’S immense relief, Lyall’s yellow Porsche was not in the parking area provided for the pet salon’s clients. At least she had some time to prepare for their confrontation. Having brought her own car to a quick halt, she burst into the house at a run, not knowing what leeway Michelle had managed to negotiate. Her sister met her in the front hall, hands up in a calming gesture.
‘No rush. You’ve got an hour and a half before he gets back.’
Serena deflated on the spot. ‘Where’s he gone?’ she gasped.
‘Apparently there’s some beachfront property up for auction at Wamberal and he wanted to inspect it. Said to tell you he’ll take you out to lunch when he returns.’
Serena shook her head. ‘I don’t want this, Michelle. I don’t want Lyall. I don’t want to be with him, talk to him, or…or anything else.’
Tears of helpless frustration welled into her eyes and Michelle quickly wrapped her in a sisterly hug. ‘I’m sorry he’s putting you through this, messing up what you’ve got going with Nic. Did he mind your leaving?’
‘I…I don’t think so. He offered…to help.’
‘There you are then. Nice guy. Just make it clear to Lyall your relationship with him is over and put it all behind you. I’m here to back you up if need be. Okay?’
‘Yes…sorry…guess I’m too tensed up about it.’
Michelle drew back and gave her a sympathetic smile as she stroked Serena’s hair away from her face. ‘Chin up, love. This, too, will pass. Go and have a long hot shower and you’ll feel better able to face the fray.’
Serena nodded, took a deep breath, and headed for the bathroom, grateful for her sister’s understanding and support. Michelle’s words, This, too, will pass, made her realise she was letting herself get too over-wrought with this Lyall/Nic situation. It wasn’t anywhere near as bad as when Michelle’s husband was killed, nor the earlier shock and grief they’d had to handle when their parents had died in a car crash.
She’d only been sixteen then.
Sixteen and forced to grow up fast, tackle life as best she could because it moved on, regardless of loss. Though it was never the same as before. There were holes that couldn’t be filled no matter how hard she worked or how far she travelled or how hard she played. The sense of belonging she’d craved, and had continually looked for in everything she’d done these past twelve years had always evaded her.
She’d talked herself into believing she could make it happen with Lyall. With him she could have the family she dreamed of having and they would all be secure in a wonderful home of their own. Lyall could provide everything they’d need or want and she’d love him for it. Her life wouldn’t feel empty anymore.
A pipe dream.
Which had come crashing down at the realisation that the man she’d decided to marry wouldn’t stand up for her if someone put her down. How could she ever feel any sense of belonging with a man whom she couldn’t trust to speak of her with love and respect? The seductive prospect of marrying money had instantly lost every vestige of appeal.
There had to be love. Real love. On both sides for a lifetime marriage to work. Never again would she compromise on that principle. Emotional security was far more important than financial security.
Lyall had been a monumental mistake.
And Nic Moretti might be one, too.
There was no ignoring the fact that he belonged to the same social arena that Lyall occupied. She could very well be jumping out of the frying pan and into the fire by plunging into intimacy with Nic. Yet she didn’t want to back off. After last night and this morning…it hurt to even think of backing off. Somehow she’d already connected too deeply with him. Though maybe her feelings were being too heavily influenced by the incredibly strong sexual attraction.
Whatever the level of her involvement with Nic, Serena found herself totally untouched by Lyall Duncan when he finally turned up at one o’clock, a half hour later than the time he’d stipulated. She suspected he’d deliberately delayed this meeting so she’d be waiting on him—his time being more important than hers.
Determined not to invite him into the house, she walked up to the parking area, noting as he stepped out of the Porsche that his appearance was a perfect illustration for casual designer wear—cream jeans with tan stitching, a tan vest over a collarless cream silk shirt, sleeves rolled up his forearms to show off his Rolex watch, and, of course, his tan hair was artfully streaked with creamy strands to make it seem naturally sunbleached.
His physique was much slighter than Nic’s, more wiry. He wasn’t tall, either, his height only just topping Serena’s when she wore high heels. Nevertheless, he could exude a charm of manner that made his amiable face quite handsome, and he always—always—looked a million dollars.
Trappings did have their impact, Serena thought, rueing her own susceptibility to them in the past. How many times had she excused Lyall’s arrogance, thinking he had a right to it, considering how successful all his entrepreneurial ventures had been in the property market? But that didn’t include the right to view her as someone who should be subservient to him.