Red Alert signals went off in Quin’s brain.
He instantly moved into damage control.
“You’re right. We’ll get dressed and go. Which I hope will prove I do care about how you feel.” He tried an appealing smile. “Give me time, Nicole. I’ve been so fixated on forcing my way back into your life, fighting for every minute I get with you, I haven’t had the chance yet to show we could have a good future together.”
She searched his eyes as though she wanted to believe him but couldn’t quite bring herself to do so. “You were free to come looking for me after you finished your business in Argentina three years ago. It took an accidental meeting for you to decide you wanted me again.”
“I thought I’d lost you. Seeing you again made me determined to change that.”
“I don’t want how it was before,” she cried.
“It won’t be. I swear to you it won’t be.”
She looked uncertain, fearful.
“Give me time, Nicole,” he pressed.
Her eyes closed, as though she couldn’t bear to look at him any more. “Well, tomorrow is another day,” she said on a deep sigh. “Let’s get going.”
Knowing he would win nothing by holding onto her any longer, Quin released her arms and they set about dressing in the clothes they had discarded earlier. A sharp sense of disappointment made him wonder if he was fighting a battle that couldn’t be won. Her response had not been hopeful. Not even particularly interested.
The silence in the room felt oppressive. It triggered the memory of other silences just before she left him five years ago. They meant an inner withdrawal from him, a retreat to a personal space he couldn’t touch, let alone share. He wanted to break into it, reach out to her, drag her back to him, but he realised force was not going to get him where he wanted to be.
For thirteen nights he’d ruled on what he and Nicole did or did not do together. She had been compliant, keeping to the deal, but here they were at the halfway mark, and Quin doubted any progress had been made towards his end goal—keeping her as his life partner.
He called down to reception and ordered his car to be brought up from the parking lot. As he was putting the telephone down, Nicole broke her silence. “Please ask for a taxi to be called, too.”
She was brushing her hair, not looking at him.
“I’ll drive you home,” Quin said decisively.
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s the middle of the night,” he argued. “I’ll see you safely home, Nicole.”
“What if I don’t want you to?”
“Then you’ll just have to suffer it because I’m not going to see you off in a taxi as though you were my whore,” Quin retorted in exasperation with her determination to stay independent.
No reply to that.
She put her hairbrush back in her handbag and headed for the door. As Quin escorted her out of the hotel room to an elevator, the sobering thought hit him that he was going to fail if he didn’t change what was wrong for her.
Their relationship had always been handled his way.
Somehow he had to turn that around.
But not on the point of driving her home.
“What time suits you for me to come tomorrow?” he asked as they rode the elevator down to the lobby.
Her head was lowered, the long silky curtain of her hair almost hiding her face. She didn’t look up to answer him. “Zoe will be worn-out with excitement if you don’t come in the morning,” she said dryly. “Nine o’clock would probably be best. Ten at the latest.”
“You can tell her I’ll be there at nine.”
“Don’t forget the silver chain.”
“I won’t.”
She nodded, not so much as glancing at him.
Quin could feel his jaw tightening, his hands clenching. He had to battle the instinct to fight. There was no physical conflict between him and Nicole. It was mental, emotional, and laying out his side of the past tonight was not enough to remove the hurt of being consigned to a secondary role in his life. She might very well be thinking that their daughter now had first place. He hadn’t brought up marriage before meeting Zoe.
Bad timing.
It had always been bad timing with Nicole.
He needed to make a new plan to win her over.
His car was waiting at the entrance to the hotel lobby. The doorman ushered them over to it and opened the passenger side for Nicole to get in. She stepped forward quickly, lowering herself onto the seat and fastening her safety belt, keeping her head averted from Quin.
Tomorrow is another day, he told himself, reining in his frustration with the current situation as the doorman closed Nicole into the car and he rounded the bonnet to take the driver’s seat. He started the engine, but before accelerating away from the hotel he shot a glance at Nicole, wanting to catch her looking at him. She wasn’t. Her thick lashes were lowered but they couldn’t quite catch the tears that were trickling through them, making shiny wet tracks down her cheeks.
Shock ripped through Quin.
In all the time he’d known her he’d never seen her in tears, and the certain knowledge that he must have caused them appalled him.
What had he said to give her grief?
What had he done?
His mind was in absolute tumult as he automatically manoeuvred the Audi back onto the route to Burwood. It was impossible to shake the image of Nicole sitting miserably alone, sad and defeated by forces that were beyond her control—forces that made her feel terribly vulnerable—no way out because he was Zoe’s father.
There was no use arguing he didn’t want to hurt her. He had in the past. A promise that it would be different this time probably sounded like empty words to her. Why should she believe it, given her past experience with him when he’d concentrated solely on his needs?
Words were useless.
Taking her to bed with him was useless, too. That was the same as before.
The thirteenth night…
He had to change what was happening on their nights together, show Nicole it was different. He could arrange a dinner party, invite not just his friends but hers, too, like the couple he’d met at the Havana Club, Jade and Jules Zilic. Involving other people might get Nicole to relax more in his company, and drawing her into his social circle would prove he wanted her by his side for more than just sex—his woman—his wife!
He heard a siren wailing and immediately checked his speedometer, aware that he hadn’t done so and they’d been on Parramatta Road for some time without much traffic to slow them down. It was all right. He wasn’t driving above the speed limit. He hadn’t drunk any alcohol, either. Maybe the siren came from an ambulance on its way to an emergency.