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Gisele ran the tip of her tongue over her bone-dry lips. ‘So,’ she said, summoning up what was left of her paltry attempt at cold indifference, ‘I take it you no longer require my services this evening?’
Emilio turned to look at her but his expression was difficult to read. ‘I will have a meal sent up to you presently,’ he said. ‘Please make yourself at home. I’m going out.’
‘Where are you going?’ The question was out before she could stop it and, to her shame, it sounded scarily close to one a jealous wife might have asked.
He turned from the door and raked her with his cold indifferent gaze. ‘Don’t wait up,’ he said and then he was gone.
Gisele picked up one of her shoes and threw it at the door, angry tears spilling from her eyes. ‘Damn you,’ she said. ‘Damn you to hell.’
Emilio entered the penthouse at two in the morning. He had walked the streets of Sydney for hours, determined not to return until Gisele was safely out of his range. His body had ached to take what she was offering so defiantly but he was not going to give her any more reasons to hate him. He would bide his time, waiting for her to come to him, as he knew she would. One night would not be enough for either of them. He was counting on that. He knew as soon as she gave in to the sexual chemistry that sizzled between them she would want more. She was bitter and angry but he knew she would get over it. Time was a great healer and a month was surely long enough to see if what they had shared together before could be resurrected.
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